Dreams to Die For (17 page)

The weather had changed again on Boxing Day morning, and thin sunshine danced over the almost still water of the loch. Looking out of the bedroom window, Cindy noticed the deer had gone, and the buzzard was nowhere to be seen but a thin layer of fresh snow had fallen overnight onto the mountains and a heavy ground frost glistened on the lawn in front of the house – though the edges of the loch were free of ice. Later that morning, suitably attired for the bitterly cold conditions, the two set out and walked towards the dam wall. As they strolled past what appeared to be a small bay, Gordon remarked, “It will get a lot colder in a month or so. I've known the loch to freeze over in the shallower parts, especially during January and February.” He then pointed to the crusted, cracked and dry surface of the ground ahead. “Its very tempting to walk straight across and take the direct route to the dam, but never do it. Despite appearances, the peat surface is not hard and will give way at some point.”

“How deep is the peat?” enquired Cindy

“I've no idea, but deep enough to drown anyone. The close proximity of the dam means this shore is very steeply shelved and the peat, which before the dam was reasonably firm, now remains totally sodden. Shortly after I moved here, and knowing nothing about this particular area, I got trapped in the bog and had it not been for a passing angler giving me a rod to hold onto, I might never have made it out. As it was I lost both boots and socks, but it was a frightening experience.”

Cindy laughed. “I'm sure it was, I'm sorry I shouldn't laugh but the thought of you being hauled out of the mucky water, minus your boots and socks, is quite amusing. Bit like that executive you told me about!”

Access to the pathway above the dam was achieved by climbing over a metre-high, padlocked gate which, whilst of mild inconvenience to anglers and walkers, seemed to be locked only as a token of establishing the authority of the Hydro-Board and to prevent access by motor cycles. Iron railings, the same height as the gate, bounded each side of the footway to prevent anyone from accidentally falling down either slope of the dam wall, an occurrence that would result in almost certain death from being plunged into the deep, cold water or from hitting the rearward, rock slope of the dam and being propelled into the numerous boulders haphazardly strewn about at ground level. At the centre of the path, they stopped opposite the unattractive valve tower and Gordon started to explain some details about the dam.

“Firstly, the dam is over 1000 feet long, over 100 feet high and its base is almost 350 feet thick. Construction commenced in 1955, at a time of economic austerity, and completed in 1962. The method of building was pretty simple in that crushed rock rubble was compacted around a concrete core. It was a cheap, but strong, method. All the rock required was on site, but it was essential to ensure that no water could ever flow over the top as this would dangerously weaken the structure. If it did the water would permeate through from the unprotected rear of the dam, disturbing and eventually collapsing the integrity of the crushed rubble core, so a side slipway was built for those moments when the loch water exceeded its maximum design height.” He paused briefly to allow Cindy to absorb what he had said then raised his arm and pointed.

“Can you see that the loch-facing slope is completely covered with concrete slabs which have been protected from the elements by thick bituminised paint? Each of those is a massive twenty feet square and twelve inches thick. They act as a membrane to prevent any water seeping into the rock-fill core of the dam which would be disastrous. If the dam hadn't been built with a slipway the rear slope would have needed slabs as well, but the slipway was a far, far cheaper option, especially back then.” Cindy looked over the railings at the rear slope, the rough rock face clearly visible.

“I see now what you mean” she said returning to him. “So what's that, out in the water? Looks like some lookout post.”

“The valve tower. It is a vitally important part of the functioning of the dam as it controls the flow of water through the dam's own turbine, which is right below where we are standing now, and it also ensures that sufficient water flows to other lochs below. There has to be a controlled flow of water at all times.”

“How much water is there in the loch?” Cindy asked

“Everyone asks me that, and I really don't know! It seems difficult to find two reliable sources that agree. I think that's due to the irregular shape and depth of the loch – it has several tongues leading from it that penetrate deep into the mountains – so I suspect calculations would only ever be very approximate. I've heard mention of about 3800 million gallons, but that could be considerably out either way. What is known is that it provides over sixty thousand horsepower of energy from two 22 megawatt alternators; one housed inside the dam and the other at the power station further down the glen towards Corach. You would have seen that on your way here.”

Cindy nodded.

“From the dam, water is led to the power station by a low-pressure tunnel, almost 13,000 feet long, and horseshoe in section, with a diameter of eleven and a half feet. There are no side stream intakes. The low-pressure tunnel terminates at the base of a surge chamber. From the base of the chamber, the water plummets down a vertical high-pressure shaft, 158ft deep and thence into a high-pressure tunnel about 2200ft long, to the main inlet valve. There are one or two more bits and pieces but essentially that's it.”

“My word, Gordon, you're like a bloody encyclopaedia! What does all that mean in plain English?” Cindy smiled as she mildly reproved him.

“Sorry, I didn't mean it to sound like that. Virtually all the visitors that come here ask the same questions and over time I think I've learnt most of the answers off by heart, so I suppose it does sound a bit technical.” Gordon explained.

“No need to apologise, silly! I was only pulling your leg. I am really interested. Do go on, please, it sounds fascinating.”

Gordon looked at her and smiled. “As you insist! In simple terms the pressure of the water in the loch is sufficient to power the turbine built into the dam, but to spin the turbine down the road the water has to be carried by tunnel. It travels firstly along a long, low-pressure tunnel gradually increasing speed and then physically drops down into a high pressure shaft and tunnel through which it flows at an enormous rate thereby creating sufficient pressure at the turbine head. As the water pressure can fluctuate dangerously high, threatening to explode the tunnel itself, a surge shaft and expansion chamber are incorporated in the design to act as a sort of relief valve. Come on! Let's take a look at that now and you'll appreciate what I'm saying. We'll get to it by taking the easier route and walk along the road first, but the shortest route of course is straight over the hill in front of us. We'll come back that way.”

They took a quick look at the intake housing and concrete slipway as they ambled across the dam wall to the north gate, then crossed onto the road and walked just over a mile before turning off and began to climb a small, almost unnoticeable, track. It was hard going as the angle was steep, but at the top the land had been levelled and facing them was a circular enclosure of steel pronged railings about forty feet in diameter. Standing on its own, atop a grass and rock-covered hill, the gleaming protective railings looked quite incongruous. Cindy was struck by how very quiet it was, and how magnificent the loch below them appeared. From this vantage point, she gained a greater appreciation of its size. To the west the loch disappeared into the distance towards Kinloch Hourn. To the east she could see far down the glen to the Quoich power station, then the small loch created by the river Garry and beyond to the much larger Loch Garry itself. Gordon explained how the waters of Quoich were used for the generation of hydro-electricity several times over. Firstly at Quoich dam and the power station, then at the Garry power station and from there into the string of lochs that formed the Caledonian Canal linking Inverness on the east coast to Fort William on the west. Cindy peered over the circle of railings, not sure what to expect. She was surprised to see a large black hole filling the entire enclosure, but as her eyes became accustomed to the darkness she could make out that the diameter lessened considerably about half way down into a much smaller shaft.

“What's that?” she asked.

“The top area is the expansion chamber and this sits above the surge shaft. If you look really carefully and adjust your eyes, at the bottom you can see small waves as the water passes through to the high-pressure shaft. Remember what I said at the dam about the surge chamber being needed to relieve pressure as the main inlet is opened and water rushes into the tunnel. If it wasn't for this expansion chamber, there would be a terrific, pressurised explosion of water within the tunnels. It would be really dangerous. When the pressure builds water is ejected here and despite the surge chamber a huge spout of water can still be thrown out high into the air at times.”

Cindy was fascinated. Other than the steel guard rail fence that encircled the chamber, the huge hole was entirely open – as of course it had to be. On the way back to the dam, halfway down the mountain, Gordon pointed out the entrance to a maintenance tunnel that led to the surge shaft. Affixed to the heavy wrought iron gate securing the access was a large ‘DANGER' safety notice, and a heavy chain and padlock completed the security.

“You can't see anything in there, its pitch black, and is only used occasionally when the surge shaft needs inspecting. I can't recall ever noticing anyone doing that, but I suppose they do.”

Slowly, they made their way back to Mealag and enjoyed the hot lunch that Margaret had ready. Cindy was still rather dazed by the whole experience. It was not only the size of the dam and the grandness of the scenery that made it difficult for her to think clearly, she was beginning to wonder where all this was leading. Would she, did she, have a future with Gordon and if so could she spend a large part of it here, in this remote wilderness? She was starting to hope that the answer might be yes to all the questions, and her feelings were given added impetus when the following day she made a point of staying indoors whilst Gordon and Sandy took a 4x4 and drove into the estate to help the workers repair a fence.

Cindy had been telling Margaret about her background and early life and Margaret had been narrating stories of her childhood on a Hebridean island. They had been chatting for a while when Margaret put down her preparation knife and turned to Cindy. “You mean a lot to Gordon. Did you know?” It was asked more in the nature of an enquiry than a statement.

“Do I? Do I really?”

“Aye, young lady, you most definitely do. You must be very special. You are the first lady friend he has ever brought to Mealag – not that I think he has had many anyway, don't misunderstand me. But he obviously could do pretty much what he wants, yet I have never known him so excited since he met you. He spent one evening telling us both about your experience after that awful bombing on the train, and every time he came back from lunching with you he has been keen to talk to us about it. His folks have died, you know, so I think he views me as a sort of surrogate mother!” She laughed as she said it but before Cindy could say anything she continued, “I suppose I am in a sort of way, I wouldn't like to see him hurt by anyone.”

Cindy understood the message. “I shan't hurt him, Margaret, he means a lot to me too. In fact, I am a bit overwhelmed by what's happening.”

“That'll be fine then, I'm sure you will both be very happy. Gordon is a good man.”

When Cindy later recounted the conversation in her head she realised that she had virtually sealed her future and answered the questions of the previous day. There was only one problem. She was married to Alan and he still loved her.

The remaining days passed quickly with Gordon showing Cindy around the estate and the area generally. A number of vehicles were kept at or nearby to Mealag itself, mainly agricultural but also a very powerful 4x4, and one morning he drove Cindy on the narrow track that wound through the mountains behind Mealag until it reached the single carriageway C-class road bordering another large loch, Loch Arkaig. They drove along the water's edge, eventually leaving the loch and road behind them, travelling cross-country heading northwards towards the sea. After a few more miles, it seemed to Cindy as if they were literally in the middle of a wilderness where no one had ventured, probably for years. It was indeed very remote. The ground became rougher until after three miles Gordon turned right and took Cindy through the spectacular mountains of Knoydart, where the barely passable trail swung round and linked up to the Mealag track that they had first ventured out onto in the morning. On another day, they crossed the dam and picked up Gordon's Range Rover from the garages opposite and undertook the much more comfortable drive to Mallaig, a picturesque fishing port, passing Glenfinnan and its famous viaduct and memorial. They enjoyed every moment together, whether getting battered by ferocious winds and thoroughly soaked by torrential rain, or simply enjoying a quiet drink cuddled up to each other on the sofa after a tiring walk. One luxury Cindy particularly enjoyed was coming back to Mealag after an exhausting day and going straight to the swimming pool; stripping off completely naked, showering and then relaxing in the warm water. Gordon sometimes joined her. When he did, they usually spent longer in the shower room than the pool.

As New Year approached it snowed heavily, once again utterly transforming the grandeur of the mountains. The whiteness was dazzlingly bright and Cindy needed to borrow some dark glasses to study the loch. The branches of the pine and spruce were weighed down, and every now and then some snow would fall off, leaving a trail of perfectly white dust lingering in the cold air before it slowly and silently settled on the crystal carpet. In whichever direction she looked, Cindy felt she was viewing her very own picture postcard, and the emotion caused her eyes to moisten as she was overcome by the almost magical setting she was experiencing. If she did not know before why Gordon so loved Mealag, she did now.